The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 299

McNeil had all the trappings of old money—a privileged, aristocratic air beneath the polished veneer of a trust fund heir. The first time Victoria laid eyes on him, she was utterly captivated.

"Go upstairs and change. We're having dinner at Granddad's tonight. If he sees you dressed like this, he won't be pleased."

Victoria smirked inwardly.

So much for the "just the three of us going out to dinner" he'd promised. Turned

out, they were heading back to the old family estate to see the patriarch.

No wonder McNeil hadn't cut her loose yet-she was still useful to him.

"Alright."

She didn't argue, just made her way to the room she hadn't set foot in for ages. The moment she habitually flung open the closet doors, Victoria was stunned.

Her clothes-all of them were neatly arranged inside. Same sizes, same styles, nothing missing, not even a single piece of lingerie. It was as if she'd never left at all.

But she vividly remembered packing every last item when she walked out the door.

Back then, McNeil's things were the only ones left behind.

Now, both their clothes had found their way back to their places, side by side.

pulled out a dress that fit her perfectly. Except for the faint scent of newness, everything was exactly as it had been

was the same

different in her eyes-a glint that hadn't

nightstand, where she spotted

She walked over.

special disappearing ink pen she'd bought for Gwyneth, meant for practicing letters—a kind of pen where the writing would vanish completely after half

lost in thought, cigarette smoldering between his

Victoria's footsteps pulled him from his reverie. He turned just as she began her descent down the spiral

steps were light and poised. The hair she usually wore loose was now swept up, with just a few delicate strands framing her face. Pearl earrings adorned

dress, the soft fabric tracing every curve

a woman of depth and allure. Yet time had left

more stunning than she'd been years ago, her beauty

from his

his hand, and the

the carpet with his shoe. "We'll

stair. Victoria hesitated for a moment, but in the end,

wedding day, when only the Langfords and the Turners had gathered in the old chapel. McNeil had taken her hand just like this, guiding her toward the priest, where they'd vowed-under the watchful eyes of God-to grow old

Langford, you

squeeze, he pulled

out of his embrace almost imperceptibly, keeping just enough distance between them. "I've always dressed like this. Perhaps Mr. Langford simply never